


Four Years, Minimum

by verily_i_say



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verily_i_say/pseuds/verily_i_say
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian gets two steps outside his front door, the straps of his bag heavy on his shoulder and the morning air burning in his lungs before he sees Mickey Milkovich, leaning against a tree on the other side of the road. </p><p>His step falters for just a second and he tries not to let himself hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Years, Minimum

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Set halfway through S03E12, so spoilers for that episode.  
> Like everything else I write, this is unbetaed; apologies in advance for any mistakes.

Ian gets two steps outside his front door, the straps of his bag heavy on his shoulder and the morning air burning in his lungs before he sees Mickey Milkovich, leaning against a tree on the other side of the road. His step falters for just a second and he tries not to let himself hope.

He tamps down that feeling in his chest because there’s no way Mickey is here to ask him to stay. They’re not boyfriends. Hell, they’re not even really friends. Mickey trying to stop him leaving would be too much like one of those bad romantic comedies Fiona and Vee sometimes watched and pretended to hate. He hadn’t even been able to say it yesterday. God, how difficult was the sentence? ‘Don’t do it.’ ‘Don’t leave.’ ‘Don’t join the army.’ ‘Don’t go.’ Fuck, even ‘don’t be a fucking idiot, you’re going to get yourself shot’ would have done it. 

In fact he’d specifically said that he wasn’t going to chase after him. Like some bitch. You know what? Fuck Mickey. 

So Ian deliberately lets his eyes slide right past Mickey, heads down the creaking steps, out the frozen gate and starts walking towards 51st. Bus leaves at 0900 and Johanssen needs at least an hour to make him a decent ID. Gotta be on time. 

“Hey Gallagher, wait up!” He can hear Mickey’s boots on the pavement behind him, half running to catch up. 

Ian doesn’t slow down, doesn’t look, doesn’t speak. Tries to make it clear that Mickey has exactly none of his attention. 

“What’s the rush? Bus leaves at 9, right?” Mickey is calling out, still trying to make Ian’s pace.

“Why? Hoping for one last fuck before I go?” His voice is loud, louder that would normally be safe to go talking about fucking guys in this neighbourhood. His self preservation kicks in, making him regret it immediately, but it’s early and everyone is still inside. Besides, fuck it, he won’t be back for 4 years, any shit he does now will be long forgotten by the time he gets home.

“Nah man, I’m enlisting too.”

Okay, that. That’ll do it. Mickey has exactly 100% of his attention. Ian, floored, stops dead without meaning to and Mickey catches up to him. 

“What?” Ian turns, shocked. Mickey looks like shit, but his expression is oddly cheerful. His face is flushed and his eyes are wide, bloodshot. There’s a duffel slung over his shoulder, packed to capacity. “Are you crazy?”

Mickey grins. “What? I want in, suddenly joining the army’s a stupid idea? Besides, which of us is actually old enough to legally serve our country? Because I’m pretty sure it isn’t you.” His voice is kind of manic, wired; like he didn’t sleep all night, then took a handful of uppers, 5 beers and case of Red Bull. 

“How’d you get around that, anyway? Hope it’s better than some fake ID where you just got someone to age you up a year. They’ll run your Social Security and work that shit out in a second.“

Ian’s brain is still buzzing. “You can’t enlist. They wouldn’t take you. You’ve got priors.”

“Yeah, but Mickey Maguire doesn’t.” Mickey smirks up at him, pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to Ian and there he is, grinning up from the plastic face of a State of Michigan Drivers License. Maguire, Michael, aged 18, organ donor. 

Ian’s just looks at him. “I thought you said a fake ID was stupid.”

“This one’s legit.” 

Ian looks at him incredulously.

“Well, kinda. I got two social security numbers, we all do. My Mom was running some kind of scam back in the day; twice the kids, twice the welfare cheques, right? Anyways, this one’s clean. Maguire’s been an upstanding member of society. No record to keep me out.” Mickey stuffs the license back in his pocket, takes out a cigarette and lights it. 

Ian just stands there a minute before turning away from Mickey abruptly, marching, back on route to 51st. Calls over his shoulder, matter-of-fact, “You’re not joining the army, don’t be an asshole.”

Mickey trails behind him. “Don’t see why not. I like guns, don’t I? Plus, I’ll get to shoot me some Towelheads.”

“That’s not funny.” Ian’s not even looking at him.

“Come on, man, it’s a great idea. Discipline. Routine. Could be just what ‘a troubled young man’ like me needs, right?” Ian can almost hear the air quotes, he can definitely hear the smile. 

He snorts sarcastically. Mickey wouldn’t last a full day of the Patriot Phase before he started knocking heads together. 

Ian’s voice is harsh. “Oh yeah? What about your dad?”

This time it’s Mickey’s turn to snort. “What, NOW you’re worried about what my dad will think? He served in Vietnam. I’m sure he’ll be real proud. Well, until he works out you’re signed up too, then he’ll probably try to kill both of us. I figure we’ve got time on that one.” Mickey catches up alongside Ian again, smoke still in hand. 

“And your wife?” Ian can’t help but inject some venom into the last word. 

“Gets a place to stay without having to share the bed, plus she’ll get military benefits. Better deal than she’s getting right now. Why are you being such a little bitch about this, Gallagher?” 

Ian doesn’t say anything, keeps up the pace he knows is just a little too fast for Mickey to walk at comfortably. Mickey matches it anyway. 

“Your turn. What’s the big plan? How you gettin’ in?” Ian doesn’t say anything. Mickey points behind them towards the street they should have taken if they were going straight to the pick up location. “We making a pit stop?”

Ian wrestles with the idea of just staying quiet, but figures that Mickey’s just going to see for himself when they get there. Fine. “You know Johanssen on 51st?” 

Mickey sounds annoyed. “Fake ID, really man? Johanssen’s not even that good, you’re gonna get caught. You wanna get into a bar that cards, he’s fine, but you really think he can get you into the Army?” Mickey offers him the smoke, Ian takes it without even thinking. “And when they check your Social Security number…?”

“I’ll be using someone else’s.” Ian takes a long drag of the cigarette, feels the smoke burn into his lungs, warming him from the inside out.

Mickey watches his mouth as they walk, distracted for a second, then. “Oh yeah? Who you gonna be?”

“Lip.” 

Mickey frowns. “Uh, you sure that’s the best idea? Didn’t Lip get charged with a bunch of shit lately? I mean, they even going to let you in as him?” He takes the cigarette back. 

“All of it was before he turned 18 and all he got was community service, so I’m pretty sure it’s not going to stop them from taking me. Him. Whatever.”

“Yeah, I really don’t think it’s that easy. Have you got a guy on the inside who can swing the decision for you, or something?”

Ian doesn’t. Ignores that, doesn’t look at him, just keeps walking, picks up his pace a little. Shifts his duffel from one shoulder to the other and vaguely wishes he’d thought to bring gloves. 

Mickey keeps talking. “Cool, so all that leaves is the piss test, which we’ll both fail.” 

Fuck. He’d been so caught up in the ID thing he hadn’t even thought about the drug test. Even if the nitrous he did with Mandy yesterday wasn’t going to show up, the pot he’d had with Lip four days ago and some shitty blow with a kid in ROTC about a month back definitely was.

“And then the fingerprint check, where they find out you’re underage, I’ve got priors and we're both guilty of identity fraud. Then we both get dishonourable discharges and probably jail time.”

He’s right. FUCK.

Mickey looks sideways at Ian. Weirdly, he still sounds kinda cheerful. “I figured that whatever you were planning on doing would be kind of stupid, but this is pretty much the worst idea ever. Gotta say, man – for someone who eats, breathes and shits Army 24 hours a day, you haven’t really put a lot of thought into this.” 

Ian’s deliberately not making eye contact, but he’s listening. 

“So, either they’re going to boot you out because you are Lip Gallagher or lock you up because you’re not. And either way, they’ll know about the drugs. Jesus, Gallagher, Lip really did get all the brains of the family. Lucky you got the looks.” He smirks at Ian, dirty. “You know, if you’re into the carrot top thing.” He flicks the cigarette away. 

Ian already knew it was a risky idea, but hearing Mickey list out all of the ways he’s going to get caught just makes the plan seem reckless. Useless. Inevitable. He’s slowed his pace. They’re going to catch him. Fuck. 

Mickey shrugs and keeps walking. “You coming?”

Ian’s stopped now. “You’re going to go along with it? Even though you think we’re gonna get caught?” 

Mickey does the same, turns back to face him. “I KNOW we’re gonna get caught. No way this shit is getting past Uncle Sam. It's cool, I figure when we get caught, maybe they’ll let us be cellmates. That wouldn’t be the worst way to serve your time, you know?” Mickey’s grin is filthy, his tongue playing with the seam of his mouth. Eyes him up and down, bold given how exposed they are, but it’s still early, so there’s no foot-traffic. 

Jesus, Ian wishes he didn’t react to that look, but it’s hardwired into him. He swallows hard and doesn’t say anything. He wants to put Mickey on his hands and knees, like now.

Ian’s looking at his expression carefully. Trying to work out the angle. “You’re not just saying all of this to make me change my mind?”

“Nah man, I’m in.” Mickey’s confident. Jumps the strap of his duffel to the other shoulder and shifts under the weight. At the long silence, he kicks at a piece of trash on the ground. Nods his head behind him, towards 51st. “Well. We doin’ this?” 

When Ian doesn’t say anything for a minute, Mickey looks at the ground and then back at him. His smile’s gone. Looks kinda nervous. Starts to fidget with the sleeve of his jacket. Ian just looks at him a long moment, considers the offer he’s being made. 

Finally he quirks his lips at Mickey. “You’d look stupid with a shaved head.”

Mickey grins and it’s one of the gayest thing that Ian’s ever thought, but it’s like the sun’s come out. “Fuck off, is how I’d look. That a no?” 

Ian grins back. “Yeah.”

Mickey laughs, relieved, runs his hands through his hair. “I’da gone through with it an all, but I’m kinda glad you said no, man. Getting shot twice is enough for me.” 

Ian can’t help but laugh with him. He feels shaky, like he’d just stepped back from the edge of a cliff. He’d been totally committed to the idea of enlisting, but deep down maybe he’d been waiting for someone to stop him this whole time. “Please, like you’re done getting shot at. The shit you get up to and living in this neighbourhood? No way.” 

They turn back towards the direction they came, towards the park, pace slower this time.

“Yeah, but at least I don’t have to take orders from some douchebag in a uniform while they’re aiming at me.”

Mickey drops his duffel on the ground, Ian copys him and climbs up on a park table, feet on the bench. After a second, Mickey joins him. 

“Plus, you know, I got a pretty sweet set up going here. Got this job where all I gotta do is just stand there, look tough. And there’s this guy who works there, been seeing each other for a couple years now." He smirks. "Fucks like a porn star, man. Would hate to miss out on all of that, you know?”

Ian can’t think for a second, because all he can hear is ‘been seeing each other for a couple years now,’ repeating like static in his brain.

“And fuck you, I’d look awesome with a shaved head.” 

Ian feels invincible for just a second. Fuck the families at the other end of the park, he wants to laugh, kiss him, shout, tell the whole neighbourhood he’s gay for Mickey Milkovich, fuck him right there on the park bench, punch Terry in the face. 

He suddenly remembers that Mickey’s married. Sobers. “What about your wife? She know about you fucking other guys on the side?”

Mickey’s tone changes immediately, defensive, defeated. “I’m not the first married guy you’ve fucked, Gallagher. I’m sure I won’t be the last.”

“It’s different.”

“Oh yeah, how?” Mickey’s voice is challenging.

“I didn’t love them.”

Ian’s words echo loudly in own head. He avoids eye contact. The silence stretches on longer than he’s comfortable with. Finally, he looks over. Mickey is frozen in his spot, staring straight back at him. He looks vaguely terrified, but he’s not running. He breaks eye contact, rubbing his hand over his face. 

Mickey’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “You were there when I met her, man. You know why I got hitched and it’s sure as hell not because I wanted to play house with some chick.” 

Ian doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say. 

“She knows. About you. And I’m not fucking her. The only thing she wanted out of the marriage was a Green Card and a roof over her head. Compared to having the shit kicked out of me, that seemed like a pretty good deal.” 

Mickey’s not looking at him. 

“You should meet her, she’s actually not so bad. We’re kind of friends, or whatever? Not her fault she got knocked up.” He laughs a little. “She said that if we’re gonna fuck in the bed we gotta change the sheets before she comes home. Something about not wanting her bed to smell like her work.“ 

The corner of Ian’s mouth curves up the smallest amount. Mickey looks over at him. Ian nods.

After a silence. “I’m not seeing Ned anymore.“

“The old guy?”

“Yeah. I told him from the beginning that I kinda have a boyfriend.” Ian looks at Mickey, watches his reaction.

Mickey shoot him a look, challenging, sarcastic. “You got a boyfriend, Gallagher? Who is he? Imma kick his ass.” 

Ian smirks, turns his face away. They’re sitting side by side. He bumps his foot against Mickey’s in a light kick. “You weren’t really going to enlist, were you?“

Mickey nods at his duffel. “Check the bag, man. All my crap is in there. We can still go, if you really want to, but I’m pretty sure it ends in a least one of us going to jail.” He smirks. “I’ll be fine, but you’re kind of a pussy, so…” 

Ian punches him on the arm, but he’s smiling.

“Don’t worry, we go down and I’ll make sure no one fucks with you. I‘ll tell ‘em all you’re my bitch.” He’s cocky, smirking. Lights up another smoke. 

Ian snorts. “Oh, I’m your bitch, am I?”

“Like anyone would believe it the other way around.” Mickey kicks Ian’s shoe, and half smiles back, touches his thumb to his mouth. “They don’t need to know how it is.” 

Ian looks up, catches his eye for a second. Steals the cigarette out of Mickey’s fingers. They both glance away, smiling a little. He feels warm despite the cold of the concrete table seeping through his jeans. 

And Mickey doesn’t kiss him, or hold his hand or tell him that he loves him, but it’s okay. As they sit their elbows are touching. Ian can only just feel it through the layers of jackets he’s wearing, but it’s enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the worst kind of attention whore. Please review and/or kudos and I will love you forever!


End file.
